Bittersweet Chocolate
by Vision in Blue
Summary: Holden recalls a painful memory when Phoebe drags him to a Duane Reade after the carousel scene. Rated for language because this is in Holden's POV. Originally called Chapter 22.5


22.5

_Holden recalls a painful memory when Phoebe drags him to a Duane Reade after the carousel scene. Language galore!_

**A/n: This, like Diary of a Mad… blah blah blah, was part of a school assignment. The assignment was to write what happens after the carousel scene in Holden's POV (if you've read the book, you know how abruptly Holden ends it.) Others wrote about a psychoanalyst examining him; I wrote about an experience at Duane Reade. Teehee. 40/40 points baby! I asked to take this home to upload it so… I hope you enjoy the productivity of my 40 minute class essay! P.S. I don't swear this much in real life!!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned **_**Catcher in the Rye**_**, Holden would find synonyms for the words "bastard" and "goddam".**

"Look Holden," Phoebe had said after riding the merry-go-round fifteen more times or so, "I'm getting dizzy. Can we go home now?" I was still sitting in my sopping wet clothing on the bench, and I knew that if I stood up and moved around I'd freeze like a bastard.

"Just one more time?" I asked her, searching my pockets for enough change to last for one more ride.

"Money isn't an issue," Phoebe grabbed my hand, "I just want to go home." She tugged on me so much- that killed me.

"Let's go for a walk, then," I said. I wasn't in the mood to go home because at home all anyone asks is questions. 'Are you okay?' 'How's school?' 'Did you pass until next semester?' 'Who are your friends?' 'Are you happy?' 'Are you _sure_ you're ok?' I was getting pretty goddam tired of questions. Everyone asks them to make small talk; they don't give a damn about your life.

"Where to?" Phoebe asked. There-she just asked a question. I can't get mad at her, though, because she's just a kid. She wouldn't care if the answer was either to the Empire State Building or to Santa Fe or even to the goddam moon.

"I dunno," I shrugged walking toward the south end of the park. I must've been slugging along pretty slowly because Phoebe kept getting ahead of me while I slugged behind winded. Smoking only makes you more jittery and sickly; screw what Stradlater told me. After walking a couple blocks or so outside the park one of the many Duane Reades popped into view. There's thirty Duane Reades in the city, all stocked to the brim with medicines and hats and candy that is supposed to help. That store is stupid and the employees are just phonies. They don't care if you come in shivering your ass off- want a hat that will save your life? Well, then, go find some dough or a charity house. Bastards. I can't stand them.

"I still have money," Phoebe said, taking my hand and directing me into the Duane Reade.

"Look Phoebe, if you want a goddam hat-."

"Can you _please_ stop swearing?" Phoebe winced.

"Look, if you want a hat then you can have this one."

"That hat's soaked through. Besides, I'm getting a Hershey's Bar.

I froze like Ackley did when the hot water ran out in the goddam shower back in Pencey. A long time ago, Phoebe and Allie and I used to get a Hershey's bar every Sunday morning. Allie loved Hershey's bars almost as much he loved writing. He used to unwrap it with surgeon-like precision and then inhale the scent. That killed me, it really did. Most kids, like Phoebe, just ripped off the wrapper, threw it into the storm drain at the end of the road and ate it in two seconds. Allie saved the wrappers in perfect condition and ate it one block at a time. It would melt all over his face and fingers and he'd just goddam skip around town with his Hershey's Bar. When he was sick, the last thing I brought him was a Hershey's Bar, but then the doctors said that he was too frail to eat it. The bastard had the nerve to deny Allie of what he loved. I threw the goddam Hershey's Bar at him and swore like a madman; they gave me a psychoanalyst, but it didn't last too long.

"A Hershey's Bar?" I said quietly.

"Yes, a Hershey's Bar," Phoebe responded leading me to the candy counter near the register. She grabbed two, paid the cashier with some of the leftover Christmas dough, then grabbed my hand again and pulled me out of the goddam store.

"Merry Chirstmas," she said, handing me the Hershey's Bar. I was giving it back to her and all, because she should give it to one of her friends or something, but she put it back in my hands. "It's for you. Present tag! No tagbacks!" She punched my arm. That killed me.

I just held the goddam candy bar, more like cradled it actually, in my hand. I didn't want it, really I didn't. When people give you stuff, they assume you want it when a lot of the time you really don't. I watched Phoebe as she slowly and carefully peeled the wrapper and broke apart a stick of three Hershey squares. This was the first time she ever did that. She handed me a square.

"To Allie," she said. Then she raised her block of chocolate into the aid and said, "Merry Christmas." She blew a kiss to the sky and ate the chocolate, bit by bit. When she said that, I started bawling again. I knew going to get the goddam Hershey's Bar was a pretty rotten idea.

"Merry Christmas Allie," I choked out, taking Phoebe's hand and eating my Hershey's square, too. It was sweeter than I remembered; the kind of sweet that decayed teeth on contact.

Phoebe then looked up- tears were in her eyes, too. She reached out her hand and I took it, and we walked back home with the taste of chocolate. I started opening my own bar halfway home, peeling the wrapper slowly and inhaling it every couple of steps. When we got home, our fingers and faces were smeared with chocolate but we didn't care. Mom was waiting for us, in that goddam position with her head to the side and her hands on her hips.

"Phoebe, where were you?" she scolded. Then she stepped and looked at me. "Holden…"

**A/n: I hope you enjoyed this! Want a Hershey's Bar? ;) Forever and always, reviews are awesome.**


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